


serious moonlight

by corvus_corvus



Category: Persona 5
Genre: 11/20 Spoilers, Dancing, East Coast Swing, F/M, Featuring David Bowie's Let's Dance, Fluff and Angst, Only a little bit of each, Rated T for Kissing and Tension, Slow Dancing, Songfic, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-27 16:36:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvus_corvus/pseuds/corvus_corvus
Summary: Friday  |  11/18, 20xx  |  Evening“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to dance, and—” Suddenly he’s right in front of her, taking one hand in his own and holding it in the air while placing her other hand on his shoulder.“That’s fine,” Ren puts his own hand on her shoulder, so light she almost isn’t sure he’s really there. “I can teach you.”





	serious moonlight

_Friday_  
_11/18, 20xx_  
_Evening_

Growing up with multiple family members in law enforcement means Makoto _knows_ just how challenging faking someone’s death can be. Yet that’s just what they’re trying to do, in a high security facility no less. It’s going to take more than precision—the whole team is working to learn the plan like the back of their hand—but Makoto worries it isn’t going to be enough. That’s why they’ve gathered in the attic of LeBlanc on a Friday night working through contingency plans for the last three hours. With not even a day left before the operation begins, no less.

Leaning over a table full of notes, Makoto finishes running through the plan once more. Ren nods every time she asks a question and glances his way, glasses bouncing when he runs a hand over his face. He looks tired. Everyone does. At some point it’s diminishing return; there’s nothing more Makoto can do now that would outweigh the benefits of letting the team go to get a good night’s rest. As resident strategist, she musters up the best ten-second pep talk she can manage for a group of tired teens and dismisses them with a sad smile. Makoto can see how heavy tomorrows plan weighs on them all, and not for the first or last time she worries. There’s so many moving parts. Too many dangerous assumptions. Careful planning can only defend them so much, and she isn’t willing to sacrifice a single team member. 

The exhaustion finally hits her, too.

Makoto’s not sure if her thoughts play loud and clear across her face, or if it’s just Ren being reliably observant, but she catches him watching her with eyebrows raised high. Pretending she hasn’t seen him seems silly, so she shuffles a few papers around while she works up the nerve to confront him. In the end, she doesn’t have to. Once the last footsteps echo downstairs and the bells on the door jingle with a close, Ren asks her how she’s doing. Instead of answering, she laughs joylessly. Makoto is acutely aware that they are now alone in the attic, and in the whole café. Ren must be aware of the same thing, because he stands up and turns on the old radio in the corner, of all things. It creaks out white noise and the end of a song with a deep bassline, but Ren seems pleased. She watches his posture slip from heavy, tired, to the sharp vitality of a performer. No matter how many times she’s seen this side of him come to life and echo through the Metaverse, it’s always a surprise to watch Ren—not Joker—bleed from one carefully constructed personality to another.

He looks over his shoulder with a soft smile, “Why don’t we dance a little?” The quiet of his smile and request are at odds with the unyielding nature of his stance. It’s dissonant, and yet it fits him just like those too-big glasses he wears.

“Dance?” She didn’t see that coming. “You dance?”

“Sometimes.” Cryptic. Predictable. Makoto sighs.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to dance, and—” Suddenly he’s right in front of her, taking one hand in his own and holding it in the air while placing her other hand on his shoulder.

“That’s fine,” Ren puts his own hand on her shoulder, so light she almost isn’t sure he’s really there. “I can teach you.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. Her best effort is to stammer out a choked “Okay.”

—  
_let's dance / to the song they're playin' on the radio_  
—

“It all starts with a step backwards,” Makoto looks down at his feet and tries to mirror his movements. She must look puzzled, because he remarks, “I know it’s counter-intuitive when you’re trying to make progress. But it works.”

Looking up again, she levels him with a cool glare, “Is this really about dancing, or is this some thinly-veiled attempt to tell me to relax?”

“Of course it’s about dancing.” Ren’s smile turns sickeningly sweet. It gets a little more devious when Makoto rolls her eyes in response. “Now you move your weight forward again, then take three small steps to your right, and three to your left.” She goes through the motions without any sense of the music around her. It’s choppy, and rough, and looks nothing like the way he glides across the wood floor. “Good,” he encourages, “That’s really good for not knowing how to dance.” She mumbles skepticism under her breath, too low for Ren to decipher. A couple more times following his lead, and she’s almost getting the beat.

When she steps on his foot a few counts later, Makoto cringes more than he does. “I’m not very graceful,” she stutters, “Sorry.”

“That’s not true. You’re a fighter; you know how to move.” Ren gives a light push against her shoulder before he pulls back, opening their stance to stand by her side. He hasn’t let go of her hand. “It’s just that no one’s taught you to move like this.” There’s that dangerous grin. She feels her cheeks heat up and is grateful that he chooses this moment to pull her close again so that she can hide her face in his shoulder. Inhaling, Makoto tries to keep count with the music and match steps to numbers. It only adds up to more fumbling and stomped feet for Ren, who, bless him, just keeps moving quietly.

—  
_let's sway / while color lights up your face_  
—

His calm is infectious. She wishes his dance moves were just as easy to pick up. Makoto can’t be grateful enough for the way he whispers the music’s counts in her ear. Steady and gentle. “One, two, three and four, five and six.” Over and over. Like a heartbeat.

Ren doesn’t falter, even as she trips over a misstep and he darts down to catch her. When she apologizes again, he brushes it off. “You do know I want to be doing this with you, right? I mean I asked, after all.”

“Oh,” she sputters while he pulls her back up. He’s already got them in step again. Makoto’s reply seems to make him consider the implications of his own words, because he gives her a worried look on the next rock step.

“You just seem so stressed,” Ren elaborates, blushing, “And—”

“Of course I’m stressed,” Makoto counters. She feels her grip tighten against him, leans back to make eye contact. “I’m about to start an operation tomorrow that requires me to fool several very clever people, and will likely lead to your early death.”

“Makoto, it’s—”

She cuts him off again. “If anything—_anything_—goes wrong, you’re going to die.”

“It’s going to be fine.”

“And I’m going to have to live knowing that this whole plan was my idea, and that it got you killed. That I killed you.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Not legally, but _I’ll_ know it’s my fault.”

Ren’s jaw tightens. “It would _not_ be your fault.”

She stares back, persistent. “I disagree.”

Somehow, they’ve kept the rhythm despite the dark turn of topic. Finally, Makoto’s feet tap out the beats in time to Ren’s. It’s exciting enough to make her back down; they’ve both made their points and there’s no reason to believe that they will come to a consensus tonight. Something in the back of her mind reminds her that tonight might be all there is left for Ren, and it’s best to indulge in making better memories than a disagreement.

—  
_let's dance for fear your grace should fall / let's dance for fear tonight is all_  
—

As their mood coalesces into something quiet, their dancing follows suit and devolves into a steady sway. It’s solace. Ren’s arms migrate to her waist, pulling Makoto close like a lifeline. Releasing a deep breath, she rests her arms on his shoulders. Their bodies relax in parallel, each pressed against the other.

Makoto leans her face to his neck without thinking. He smells so nice, clean. How could she have never noticed? It suddenly hits her that this position means her lips are on his neck, but she’s feeling the fatal combination of a little too tired and a little too tempted to shy away. Instead Makoto leans in more, moves her lips against his skin just enough that it could mean nothing, could mean everything. It’s safe, tender enough to be mistaken as a kiss, or just her breath. But then she hears Ren hum, feels it, really, with the way she is pressed against him. (So, so close it’s borderline _obscene_). It’s a good sound. She takes it as permission to stay in place for now. She knows it’s more than permission when he tightens his arms around her waist, sighing.

“This is nice,” he whispers in her ear.

She manages to mumble back. “Yeah.”

Moving her hands up from Ren’s shoulders, she tangles them in his hair and bumps against his glasses. With a little focus, Makoto slides them off his face and tosses them over to his bed. Ren looks over to where they land with a soft thump. Once he’s determined his glasses are safe, Ren presses their foreheads together. Their noses bump gently, briefly, before he tilts his head so they fit together. Makoto feels his hands twist against her back, reveling in the way the muscles in his arms tense with the motion. His breathing gets shallower now, and when he speaks again his tone is treacherously low.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

With that less than sorted out, Makoto finally takes advantage of their position to kiss him. Gently, sweetly, like crisp morning dew. It’s all lips for a brief moment, and it’s all she never knew she wanted from him.

Still sorting out her own feelings, Makoto can’t imagine Ren is much better off. She needs to clarify. “Do you want to stop?” She asks knowing that she may have to stop, will stop if he asks, and worries that she has already gone too far. The pit in her stomach deepens when he doesn’t reply.

Makoto tries to pull away to make eye contact, but Ren maintains his desperate grip around her waist. “Do you want to stop?” She asks, voice muffled as she speaks into his chest, “Ren?”

When he replies, it’s a quiet “No.” Ren kisses her forehead softly while he leans in to the rhythm floating through the night air.

—  
_if you say run, i'll run with you / if you say hide, we'll hide_  
—

Makoto keeps her face turned against his chest; it’s too difficult to look him in the eye when he sounds as on edge as she feels. She mumbles out the question that’s been haunting her for days.

“Are you scared?”

“Yeah, but I trust you.” Makoto imagines Ren’s eyebrows furrowing with thought before he adds, “I trust the whole team, but especially you. I know you’ll keep everyone safe.”

Hesitant, Makoto opens her mouth only to find his lips meeting her own. She wholeheartedly returns the jittery force he puts into the kiss, letting heat simmer between them. It’s nervous energy that drives the way he bites her lip, the way she squeezes the muscles in his shoulder, the way both their hearts beat like they just completed a heist.

Makoto whispers into the kiss, “I’m scared, too.” A shiver runs through Ren and makes his breathing hitch. He doesn’t stop swaying, pulling her along with him.

—  
_because my love for you / would break my heart in two_  
—

“Would you,” she pauses, contemplates, “Would you like to do this again sometime?”

“Mmm. That sounds nice.”

“Then you better make it out of tomorrow alive.” He instantly freezes, and Makoto takes the opportunity to slip out his grasp and level him with a stern look. “I mean it,” she crosses her arms, “No surprises, no self-sacrificing, no putting yourself in more danger than we’ve already planned for.” She keeps trying to force the thought out of her mind that this could be the last time she sees him like this. Not in a heist getup, not with a code name, not with a mask, not with that infuriatingly cool veneer he dons to shake off the people that cross them. Just Ren and his genuine, half-shy smile.

This can’t be the last time.

—  
_if you should fall / into my arms / and tremble like a flower_  
—

Makoto walks to the doorway and almost, _almost_ doesn’t look back. Instead, she stops at the top of the stairs and turns over her shoulder to see Ren. He’s still standing in the middle of the room, hand running across the back of his neck while he watches her go. “Good night, Ren,” she says over the crackle of the radio.

“Good night, Makoto.” He smiles. “See you soon.”

_Let’s hope_, she thinks as she exits the café and reenters the city. Looking back once more, Makoto catches the light extinguishing in the attic of LeBlanc. With the electric glow of the city, she can still see Ren’s silhouette move behind the window, blurred and ghostly. She shivers. _Take care of yourself._

—  
_let's sway under the moonlight / this serious moonlight_  
—

**Author's Note:**

> Why does Ren know East Coast Swing, you ask? I think the real question here is why _wouldn’t_ he know it.
> 
> _ [let's dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VbD_kBJc_gI) _


End file.
